


Semantics

by Saathi1013



Category: Good Wife (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Het Relationship, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Multi, POV Female Character, POV Third Person Limited, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 06:29:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saathi1013/pseuds/Saathi1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five Times Alicia Accidentally Dommed Someone<br/>(and one time it was on purpose)</p><p>Canon complaint through 4x19, but not wholly canon *dependent,* so there are no major spoilers for specific episodes, just minor ones for general plot arcs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is not about Alicia agonizing over choosing between Will or Peter. It's about her realizing something about herself, and works with currently-extant canon to achieve that.
> 
> No beta, but any errors caught and pointed out will be corrected with alacrity. 
> 
> Bonus love to Knitmeapony for encouraging this somewhat unusual idea.

**One: Colin Sweeney**

“I like your new office,” he says, strolling in five minutes late and casting an appreciative eye over their surroundings.

“Thank you,” she says with a smile. “Please, have a seat.”

He paces the room, scrutinizing the shelves, picking up a paperweight for a moment before putting it back - precisely - where he found it, scrutinizing the art. “It’s a shame about these prints, though, so _pedestrian._ Not at all what I expected from you.”

Her smile stays in place. “Well, I don’t like distractions while I’m working,” she says, somewhere between an apology and a pointed reminder. “We really should -”

“Mm,” he says, still looking at the art. “You know, I have a much better Hokusai at home, an original woodcut, _The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife,_ I’d be happy to -”

“Sit _down,_ Mr. Sweeney,” she says, an edge creeping into her tone. She adds, belatedly, “Please.”

His eyes snap to hers, eyebrows lifting in mild surprise. “Well, when you put it _that_ way. Of course, Mrs. Florrick.”

The rest of the meeting goes smoothly.

 

**Two: Will Gardner**

The hotels are interchangeable; she can’t remember which one this is. All that matters is the bed, the heavy comforter they sweep away and the crisp white sheets beneath.

“Oh,” she says, clutching at his back. “ _Oh._ Will.”

Buried deep inside her, his rhythm starts to falter, his mouth on her neck - careful, _careful,_ so as not to leave any marks, not ever - exhaling in ragged pants, and she knows he’s almost there. “Alicia,” he gasps, shakily.

“Don’t,” she says, close but not close enough. “Keep going, don’t you _dare_ -” She somehow gets a grip on the short hair at the back of his head, pulling him up so that she can stare him down. “Come on, come _on,_ stay with me,” she says through bared teeth, feeling sensation building at the base of her spine, tingling in her limbs.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes wide and shocked and dark as he focuses on her. “Yeah, okay.”

When she comes, she leaves a set of deep red lines in his back, almost drawing blood. She apologizes when she sees them later, but something pleased hums in the back of her mind when she thinks about how he’ll feel her mark on him for _days._

**Three: Eli Gold**

“Eli,” she says with a sigh as she opens her door. “You know Peter’s not here. He’s out with the kids, don’t make me interrupt the _one -_ ”

“I know,” he says, looking contrite. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“I’m not helping with the campaign, Eli, I told you,” she says, but she steps aside to let him in regardless.

“Thank you, and I know, but there’s a rumor about you...” He follows her into the kitchen, where she gets a wine bottle from the rack.

“Ah, another _rumor,_ ” she says with a rueful smile. She pours herself a glass and offers him one.

He demurs with a shake of his head. “It’s about you having an affair,” he says, halting and apologetic. He’s _always_ apologetic, but he comes to her anyway. “Are you seeing someone?”

She takes a slow sip of her wine, staring at him over the rim of the glass with an arched eyebrow. Watching him fidget. She swallows, the aftertaste of the Merlot blooming in the back of her throat. “No,” she says. It’s not a lie.

“Ah, good,” he says, smiling in relief before he glances away. After a moment, he returns his gaze to hers, sidelong. “... _were_ you?”

She sets her glass down carefully and takes a step forward, just inside his personal space. His head snaps up and back, but he doesn’t move away as she stares him down. “I don’t know how many times I can say the same words to you before they register, so I’m going to try this one more time, Eli,” she says, steel creeping into her voice. “My personal life - anything that happens inside these walls? They’re _off-limits._  My children? Are off. Limits.”

Eli looks dazed, his mouth agape and a light flush of color appearing high on his cheeks. Satisfaction rumbles silently in her chest, and a part of her wants to move closer, back him into a corner, make him sit or stumble or... or _kneel,_ and when she realizes _that,_ she freezes every muscle in her body in denial. Not stepping forward, not stepping back.

“Do you understand me?” she asks, keeping her voice calm and even through force of will.

He nods.

“Good,” she says, and moves away, retrieving her glass to disguise the trembling in her fingers. “You know your way out.”

She doesn’t look up again until he’s gone.

 

**Four: Cary Agos**

“I hate redacting documents,” Cary says, not for the first time tonight. He lifts his arms above his head in a wide stretch. Alicia can hear his vertebrae cracking from across the room, and lets herself look, just for a moment, at the arched line of his body. He’s long ago loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, so that she can see the shadow of his clavicle above the collar of his undershirt.

She looks away before he can catch her.

 _He probably wouldn’t mind,_ she thinks. _He’d probably -_ She stops that line of thinking with a shake of her head. The marker fumes must be getting to her.

“I’m going to get some coffee,” he says, and she hears the rattle of his chair rolling away from his desk.

“All right,” she says absently. “Get me some, while you’re up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he responds agreeably, and she glances up in time to see the flash of his smile as he leaves.

She finishes the current file, and slaps the folder shut. She flexes her hands, seeing the spots of black ink that mar her manicure, and makes a mental note to set another appointment over the weekend.

Alicia remembers her fingernails dragging against flesh, and shivers, pressing her palms flat against the folder. She squeezes her eyes shut, chewing on the inside of her cheek, willing the images that flicker through her mind to go away.

“Here you go,” Cary says, suddenly close, and her eyes snap open again, looking up at him. She wonders what she looks like, lips parted, heat creeping up her neck. There’s a small frown on his face as he sets the coffee between her outstretched hands. “Are you okay, Alicia?”

“Yeah,” she says, and curses her voice for betraying her.

“...are you sure?” He asks slowly, angling his head a little. “Because if you need -”

“No,” she says, too quickly. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“All right,” he says reluctantly, but he doesn’t move, watching her intently.

“I’m fine, Cary,” she repeats firmly. “Just... get me another file, will you?” She picks up the finished folder, and turns to stack it carefully in the correct box. When she turns back, she finds him walking _around her desk_ with the next file. She reaches for it, but he keeps it out of reach, holding it close to his chest as he props his hip against the desk.

“Listen, Alicia, I know...” he starts, then pauses, grinning at his own awkwardness, making it charming. “I just want you to know,” he tries again, earnestly, “if there’s anything I can do...”

She stands, only to find that she’s traded their height difference, his casual slouch making him have to tip his head back to look up at her, the line of his throat exposed beneath his open collar. She wants to grab the ends of his tie in her fist, pull him close and make him moan against her mouth.

 _Jesus,_ she thinks. This isn’t the first time she’s wanted him, this pretty boy with bright eyes and an eager smile. But that’s just who he is, how he moves, like he’s comfortable in his own skin and well aware of the admiring gazes he attracts. She doesn’t want to give him that satisfaction.

Even if she’s denying her own.

“You can hand me that file,” she says, low but firm. “And go back to your desk.”

He angles the top edge towards her, and she takes it from him. “Yes, ma’am,” he repeats, quietly, and she closes her eyes for a long moment, one long deep breath, in and out.

When Alicia opens her eyes, he’s across the room at his own desk, picking up his marker and going back to work.

 

**Five: Kalinda Sharma**

The Lemond Bishop case has the whole firm in chaos, paralegals whisking through the halls at top speed and Alicia’s carefully-planned schedule in tatters. She has the phone propped against one shoulder while she listens to the insurance company’s hold music and pages through a binder for the info she knows she’ll need.

A flash of brilliant violet catches her eyes, and she looks up, recognizing Kalinda.

“Kalinda!” she calls, and the other woman stops, walks back three steps, and pokes her head through the doorway.

“What’s up?” Kalinda asks, just as the insurance rep gets on the line.

“Hi, yes,” Alicia says into the phone.

“I can come back...” Kalinda says in the background. Alicia covers the receiver with one hand.

“No,” she says. “Just... _wait a second._ ” It comes out more forceful than she means it to, and she only realizes it when Kalinda blinks at her, one eyebrow arching upwards. Alicia winces in apology, and Kalinda smiles in a way that looks like she wants to hide it but doesn’t care to do a good job of it.

When Alicia gets off the phone a minute later, she sighs. “I’m sorry, Kalinda, it’s just crazy around here.”

“No problem,” Kalinda replies, perching on the arm of a chair and crossing her legs. Her eyes are dancing. “I just didn’t know you were a domme, is all.”

Alicia frowns at her. “A... what?”

“Never mind,” Kalinda says, pulling out her notebook. “It’s not important. What do you need?”

Later - much later - at home, Alicia sits at the computer desk with a glass of wine and the browser open to ChumHum.

After a few false starts, she figures out what Kalinda meant, and her hand covers her mouth.

 _Oh my god,_ she thinks. _Thank goodness the kids are in bed._ And also: _thank goodness Zach taught me how to clear my browser history._

 

**Plus One: Peter Florrick**

Weeks later, the new knowledge has settled into back of her mind, no longer so shocking as it was when it was brand-new.

On impulse, she calls Peter on her cellphone during lunch. “Can I see you tonight?” she asks. His warm chuckle rolls through the speaker, and she swivels her chair so that she’s facing away from the open door.

“Sure,” he says. “Meet me at the campaign bus?”

She smiles, remembering the last time. “No,” she says. “At my apartment?”

There’s a pause. They haven’t been _alone_ there since she kicked him out; it’s almost like she’s taking down a wall she’s held fast for so long, but she wants to be in her own space for this. _Home field advantage,_ she thinks sardonically. “Sure,” he says. “What time?”

“Eight-thirty?” she says.

“Sounds like a plan,” he says, and she hears voices in the background. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you then.”

“See you,” she says, and hangs up.

The rest of the day is a blur. She doesn’t remember driving home. She only comes to herself again when she finds herself standing in front of her closet, trying to decide what to wear.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she mutters aloud, and grabs the closest thing at hand that’s not a suit.

When Peter knocks at her door, he’s fifteen minutes early but she’s already halfway through a bottle of wine, her body warm but her mind buzzing with sharp anxiety. She checks her hair in the mirror before answering the door.

“Hey,” he says, smiling, but then stops talking to just _stare._

“Hey,” she says, all too aware of how exposed she is, with the door open and nothing else on but one of his dress shirts. “Come on in.”

The door barely closes before he has her in his arms, pulling her up against his body as he kisses her deeply. She has his face framed between her palms, returning his embrace just as fiercely, straining on her tiptoes to match his height.

“Bed,” she pants as they pause to catch their breath.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and half-carries her through the hallway. She shoves his coat off his shoulders, drags the tails of his shirt from his slacks, wanting skin, wanting _everything_ all at once.

Peter deposits her gently on the edge of the bed, moving to hover over her, and she puts her hand on his chest, pushing him away. “Wait,” she says. “I want to try something.”

He shifts back, standing between her legs. She sees his eyes flick down, sees the moment when he realizes she’s not wearing underwear.

“Yeah?” he asks, dragging his eyes back up to her face.

Alicia gives him a small smile. “Strip,” she says.

He chuckles wryly. “Do I need music? Should I do a little dance?”

She scoots back a little, propping herself up on her elbows, and pulls on that thread in the back of her mind, bringing the awareness of herself down into her voice. Calling up the steel, deliberately this time. “No,” she says, lifting her chin. “Just strip.”

Something dark shifts behind his gaze, and he lifts his hands to do as she says. He pulls off his clothes efficiently, not showy or fumbling, just a straighforward progression from clothed to naked. His eyes never wavers from hers. He stoops to push his slacks and boxers to the ground, and she hooks an ankle over his shoulders.

“Stay down there,” she says, and he looks up. “On your knees.”

Peter does as she says, but opens his mouth to ask, “Alicia? What -?”

Alicia sits up, runs her hand over his face, and kisses him, sweet and wicked at once, her teeth nipping at his lower lip as she retreats. “You can tell me to stop anytime,” she says, and starts unbuttoning the shirt she’s wearing. When she’s halfway down, she pauses. “But I don’t think you’ll want me to.”

His tongue darts out to swipe at the spot she’d bitten. “Yeah,” he says, voice rough. “All right.”

She’s not wrong.

 

\- END -

 

 


	2. Lexicon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...a very slight postscript to the first chapter, picking up where that one left off.

Alicia curls close to Peter afterward, smoothing her hands over his skin as they catch their breath. He’s staring up at the ceiling, a stunned expression on his face. She presses her smile against his shoulder, parting her teeth to taste his sweat, biting very gently.

“Ah, God,” he groans.

“...all right?” she asks. All evidence indicates success, but she wants to be _sure._

He puts his palm over his face and laughs. “God, yes,” he says. “I never _imagined_ you’d –”

Alicia props her chin on her hand. “I’d what?” she asks, and then her smile fades as she realizes. “Is this why you –” she says, and swallows hard. _Is this what you did with **them**?_ she wants to ask, but the words turn to ash in her throat.

“Alicia...” Peter says slowly. “I didn’t even know what I _wanted,_ and by the time I figured it out...” He sighs. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll keep saying it until the day I die, because it won’t ever stop being true. I’m _sorry._ ”

“Yeah,” she says absently, staring at the headboard. She wonders what she would have done if he’d known without cheating, if he’d asked. She tries to imagine that conversation, and fails. They’ve both come so far, for good and ill, and they didn’t have the words for this back then. It doesn't make it okay, but she understands it a little better. “Do you have a safeword?” she asks.

“Do I have a –” He stares at her as if she’s grown a second head.

“A safeword,” she says, staring right back. Pretending she’s as cool with the new vocabulary that’s jumbled in her mind as she hopes she sounds.

“You want to do this again?” Hope threads through his voice, and something like wonder.

“Maybe,” she says with a shrug, “and we should probably figure out what our boundaries are, too.”

Peter sits up, pillow bunched up at the base of his spine, his shoulders against the headboard. “Is this a _negotiation?_ ” he asks, a slight smile unfurling at the corners of his mouth.

She tilts her head to the side, smiling back despite herself. “Why not?” She rolls over, fumbles in the side drawer, pulls out the dream journal her mother sent for her birthday (Alicia had promptly repurposed it for phone messages and random thoughts about cases that occurred to her in the middle of the night).

She flips to a blank page and hands it to Peter with a pen. “Write down what you want. We’ll go from there.”

He gives her a calculating look, but takes it and starts writing. She gets up and goes to the bathroom, emerging in her robe a few minutes later. Peter tosses the notebook on the foot of the bed.

“That was quick,” Alicia comments, and sits on the edge of the bed to look it over. “Give,” she says, holding out her hand for the pen.

She immediately crosses something off. “What?” he asks, hooking his chin over her shoulder to see. “That’s a basic –”

“That’s just _unfair,_ ” she says. “Besides, what’s your reward for good behavior?”

He points to something a few lines down, and she blushes. “And anyway,” he says, “it’s not permanent, just a _delay._ ”

“Oh,” she replies. “All right, then.” She puts a star next to the crossed-out item, then crosses something else out _twice._ “Wiretaps,” she explains.

“Burner phones?” Peter suggests, and she hums under her breath.

“Better not take the risk,” she says, and he sighs. She pauses a little further down. “Peter, I don’t want to buy a lot of... _equipment._ How much does this cost, anyway?”

“We can probably work without most of it,” he admits. “Get... inventive.” He nuzzles into her hair and she leans back against him. “But we’d need to buy something for this,” he adds, pointing to a line near the bottom.

“All right, I give up. I don’t know what that one is.”

He tells her, in a low, hot whisper that makes her skin prickle and her breath go short.

“Really?” she says.

“ _Really,_ ” he confirms, his hands pulling at the tie to her robe.

“Where would we even _get_ that?” she asks. His broad palms slide over her stomach, curling over her thighs.

“Probably the internet,” he says. “I’ll do the research.” His fingers slip between her legs and she gasps, turning around to face him.

“You forgot something,” she scolds, leaning close.

“Oh?”

“Your safeword...?” she says against his mouth.

“Oh,” he says, and she feels his lips curl in a smile. “White House,” he says, and she laughs, loud and bright, as she pushes him down onto the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> ...I'm not going to lie, I kind of wish the Alicia/Cary and the Alicia/Eli ones had played out differently.  >.> But alas.


End file.
